Angel's Syndrome
by The Great Mikey Weston
Summary: Wermer's Syndrome patients are lucky if they live to the age of 30, and even if they do, they suffer a whole slew of complications- reduced bone density, loss of pigment in skin and hair. So you'd be right to expect that Gabriel's son would be alive, but ill, when he visits him at seventeen years old. You'd be right to expect it. But you'd still be very wrong. AU, mild spoilers.


**In advance, I would like to apologize for any horrible sobbing and feels this oneshot may cause.  
**

**...Sorry not sorry.**

**Enjoy~**

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He felt sick to his stomach and there was no cure.

The boy was smirking. It was _his_ smirk, his trademark personal smirk, and _he_ wasn't even wearing it right now, but there it was in front of him all the same, mocking him and everything he'd tried to resolve years ago in the very hospital they were standing in. He already knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. The malevolent glitter of the boy's eyes was enough to tell him it'd be far from it.

If Gabriel Cunningham thought back to the rest of his day, there was nothing he would have done differently. He'd felt a little under the weather when he woke up, but shrugged it off and headed to work anyway- because hey, the Christmas season was hectic, and if he called in sick Maria was going to break into his apartment and drag him to Resurgam with a roundhouse kick and a "bah humbug my ass, you've got people to see!" Well, fine, Ms. Aggressive Claus, no need to get pushy about your holiday. He could hardly even believe he was still working at the same hospital. How long had he been here? ...A while. Seemed like he kept getting dragged back no matter what he did, even when he said he was leaving… It seemed like everyone was just tied to Resurgam. Whether it was because of the Rosalia outbreak years ago or not, he'd probably never know.

Happily, Tomoe had decided to indulge in a little Christmas spirit and had brought in breakfast for their closest co-workers. It was just a good thing she had money and they had an even split between heavy eaters and light eaters (even when Naomi stopped by- who knew she'd decide to spring it on them? She wasn't the festive type. It turned out to be Alyssa's doing, anyway. Strange, he really could hardly believe the little girl from the bombing had ended up being around and somewhat in his life for the past several years, and heck, she was a teenager now. That alone was kind of weird.) The day was molasses-slow for the entire staff, he ended up with almost _nothing_ to do and amazingly enough didn't regret coming in to work despite this, mostly due to him ending up beating Maria at poker eleven times in a row and having fun doing it. Seriously, he was getting _paid_ for this.

During their twelfth round, Hank had walked in and told him he had a visitor. It didn't sound like a patient from his tone, and it definitely didn't sound urgent, but he still sounded oddly… ...he couldn't even place a word on it. He sounded very off. Gabe figured he'd be right back, told Maria not to go anywhere if she felt like losing again (she flipped him off, as predicted), and headed out toward the hallway Hank had told him to go to.

He'd entered. Looked around. No one had been there, and he'd wondered if this was a prank (which he would have seriously considered if it hadn't been Hank pulling it, because really?) He turned to go back to see the others, maybe tell Hank he'd been wrong or that his visitor had left already. And then he'd heard it.

"Doctor Cunningham, I presume."

Gabe turned his head casually and ended up whipping around the rest of the way.

And here he was now.

The boy was paper-white. Thin. Almost bony. He had delicate, somewhat effeminate features and a small frame (he was forcibly reminded of Lisa and felt his stomach churn). But it didn't matter that he looked like a walking, talking critical condition patient. His hair had no pigment, but it was still soft looking and fell just past his chin in familiarly scruffy, fluffy curls. His eyes had lost enough pigment that they looked like some strange hue of purple, and they were hardened and calculating, but they were certainly the same shape as his own. He recognized that face, those features. It was almost, but not quite, like looking in a mirror. A mirror that reflected a sickly, pale haired teenage version of himself with a far better dress sense.

His voice cracked when he spoke. "Joshua?"

The boy's smirk widened. "I'm almost surprised you recognized me."

"You're-" He tried to speak, but he couldn't find the words. The question he wanted to ask most already had an answer in the back of his mind- one he had been dreading facing for years and almost completely forgotten about.

"Wermer's Syndrome is interesting, isn't it?" Joshua said casually, reaching up and carelessly brushing a lock of hair from his face as if his father hadn't spoken. "It put me through misery and then ended up giving me everything I'd ever wanted. It's not such a bad thing after all, brain tumors and stomach cave-ins aside… Honestly, did you think some resolve and a convict doctor that just _happened_ to be a genius surgeon would cure me forever? It sounds like something out of a movie. Hard to believe we're related."

"We're- of _course_ I knew you weren't cured!" Strangely, Gabriel found himself getting angry, wanting to lash out, snap a few harsh words like usual when a patient wasn't cooperating (_it's your son, it's your son, it's not a patient he's your son_). No matter that his only child knew him now, nothing was right when he was forced to face what Joshua Cunningham had become. They looked similar, they certainly had the same sarcasm, but nothing was right about the cold smile, the pale skin, his hair, his eyes, especially not his voice. It wasn't so much the _sound_ of it as it was the tone- simpering, taunting, calculating, cold. He felt strangely incensed every time his own son spoke, and that was… wrong. "You think I looked at you like some patient I didn't know?! You wouldn't know, you don't-" He stopped himself harshly and took in a long, deep breath. "...You know why I couldn't follow up on you. I couldn't stop your mother from taking you with her when she moved."

"Couldn't you?" Joshua's response came quick as a whip.

"Nothing I should've done," he retorted.

Joshua raised his eyebrows, and he instantly knew that was entirely the wrong thing to say- Lisa did the same exact thing if he put his foot in his mouth. "Oh, well that settles it," he said serenely. "I'm sure actually deciding to be a part of my life was a terrible idea. Hm, maybe it was, for you. You wouldn't want to have to watch me grow older and die after such a _painful_ life- you're far too selfish for that. The maximum life expectancy for Wermer's Syndrome patients is about 30 years, after all… You only would've had to 'suffer' for another 20, if I'd been lucky.

He opened his mouth again- Joshua did _not_ understand, a fifteen or sixteen year old boy would not understand why he and Lisa had finally divorced, he knew he might be angry but no matter how much he pretended he wouldn't know a thing about marriage- but Joshua beat him to the punch and smoothly changed tack while doing so. "Do you know what today is?"

Gabe closed his mouth, and then answered dully, "It's Wednesday."

"It's December 23rd." Joshua's eyes gleamed. "I would have been seventeen today. ...If I had lived that long, at least."

There was suddenly an odd ringing in his ears. "What?" he asked abruptly. "That- what're you saying? Of course you're living. You're standing right in front of me. You_ are_ seventeen." There had to be some mistake, he was there, he was talking. The fact that he'd forgotten his son's birth date slipped from his mind in favor of this.

"And you call yourself a doctor," Joshua teased. "I'm disappointed. Do I look like I'm living to you? You can even check every vital sign in the book." Two fingers delicately pressed to a thin wrist. "Nothing." He smirked. "Dead as a doornail."

"That's impossible," he snapped, even though the back of his mind yelled _he's a walking corpse, he looks like he could drop dead at any second, he's not even breathing_. "If you were dead, you'd be… y'know, acting a little more dead? You can't be-"

"You wouldn't know," Joshua said coolly, his fingers dropping from his wrist. "You weren't there."

For some horrible reason, he didn't have a response to that.

"If you had been, you'd have known exactly what today was, been there when I finally passed on, gone to my funeral, taught me what to do with this- _power_-" His fingers trembled a little, the first sign of real emotion he'd shown over the past several minutes- "and I would have stayed in Portland as Joshua Cunningham. Or Yoshiya Cunningham, as it were. But here we are now, instead. I don't think you regret a thing, do you? Don't pretend you do, either."

But he did now, Gabriel wanted to say desperately. If he'd known this was what his son would become through the years without him, he would have tried harder to stay around just to save him from this fate. He just couldn't force out the words. "Joshua…" he trailed.

"I could give you exactly what I've wanted you to feel for the past few years." Joshua's voice was suddenly quiet. "It wouldn't be too hard. All I'd have to do is…"

He lifted a hand calmly, and Gabriel's heart fell into the pit of his stomach as he briefly formed a gun with it. "... concentrate." The hand lowered slowly. "...But I think I'd rather just let you live with it."

He felt icy cold at the implications, but Gabriel dared to ask. "Live with what?"

The boy's eyes gleamed wickedly, and it was in that moment that Gabriel realized Joshua Cunningham had stopped existing a very long time ago. The one who stood in front of him now was Lisa Kiryu's son through and through, and there was no longer anything he could do to reverse it.

"Think about it. I was the last person in this world who was ever going to need you. But you let your last chance slip by and never looked back. Aren't you pathetic." His voice was filled with humorless amusement. "...You know, my name is Yoshiya. But I suppose you and Mother are going to call me Joshua forever, aren't you? You're never going to let go of what could have been." His shrug was purely apathetic as he cast his gaze over Gabriel's frozen up form once more. "Enjoy eternity."

And with a last cold smirk and a careless wave, the boy who was once Joshua Cunningham turned on his heel and walked away.

It was several seconds before Gabriel realized he'd stopped breathing and had stared at Joshua as he left the hall. He couldn't quite feel his legs. Or if he could, he was having trouble moving them.

"Hey, Gabe?" Maria's voice floated in suddenly from behind him, at the door. "You done in there? Someone came in just now."

Gabriel didn't answer, but he did blink when he realized again that he'd been staring blankly and Maria was now staring at his face with a frown. "Hey, you okay?" She blinked. "You look pretty pale. Who came to see you?"

_A ghost_, Gabe wanted to say._ It had to be, he said he died, he _looked_ dead, there's no other way._ But that was ridiculous, he couldn't tell anyone that, least of all Maria- she'd think he'd lost his mind. "Nah, I'm… I'm fine. It was just, y'know... an old patient. Who came in?"

Maria opened her mouth, but she must've seen something strange in his expression still, because she hesitated and shut her mouth again, examining his face almost worriedly. "...You're seriously pale. Are you sweating? I thought you said you didn't do the whole sweating thing."

"I'm fine," Gabriel heard himself say, without really thinking about it. "Seriously."

Maria frowned. "...Look, I… I think you need to go home. You're not in any state to work right now." She shook her head and gave him a rough pat to the shoulder (it was more like a slap, but still). "Go on, get out of here. Get some rest. I'll hand the patient over to one of the other doctors."

She turned and walked straight out of the hallway before he could say another word. He wondered briefly if he really looked that bad- but he didn't dwell on it.

"_Enjoy eternity._"

There were _other_ things to dwell on.


End file.
